All language subtitles for Agatha.Christies.Poirot.S03E02.How.Does.Your.Garden.Grow.720p.BluRay.HEVC.x265.sharpysword

Spasibo.

Thank you, Mr. Poirot.
A most discerning choice.

You are most kind, M. Trumper.

You will send the account
to my address, if you please.

Why, yes, of course.

Mr. Poirot, if I may ask,
is there a special occasion?

Oh, yes. A very special
occasion indeed, M. Trumper.

I am about to become
a pink rose.

Yes, you'll be all right.

I thought it might have been

a touch of food poisoning.

Heavens no.

Just normal digestive trouble
for someone your age.

I'll prescribe a powder
to settle the stomach.

And remember,
keep off chocolates, shellfish,

and fried foods.

All your old favorites.

I'll have the powders for
Katrina to collect this evening.

Morning, Fred.

-Morning, Mrs. Delafontaine.
-Lovely day.

What have you got for me, then?

Thank you.

-Bye, Fred.
-Bye.

What's the trouble?

Not you.

Where's Katrina?

-Madame?
-Katrina, the post.

Oh. Yes, madame.

Oh. It's you.

Only two for Auntie today.
Nothing much to bother her with.

She wants to have them now.

As you wish.

And, mind you,
keep your eyes to yourself.

Poirot?

Time's getting on, you know?
They're waiting for you.

One moment longer, Hastings!

He went straight inside as soon
as he came back from the shops.

Didn't even read his letters.

Strange.

Perhaps he's dyeing his hair.

But he's a man.

-What was that, Hastings?
-Oh, uh, nothing.

Eh bien.

Let us put
our best feet forward.

I can't imagine why
you're so keen on coming here.

You know Mary takes care
of the garden.

Nonetheless,
it does belong to me.

That was unnecessary, Auntie.

As was a certain bill
I received this morning

from the wine merchants.

For spirits.

I've already spoken with Henry
on that subject, Aunt Amelia.

Now, where are we going first?

I don't know where you're going,

but I have a sudden fancy
to see the roses.

Katrina?

And so it is with a deep honor

that I salute this most
beautiful of flowers,

which shares my own humble name.

Thank you.

Pour moi?

Oh, merci beaucoup.

Mr. Poirot?
Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

M. Poirot?

-This way, Mr. Poirot.
-Thank you.

-Over here, Mr. Poirot.
-M. Poirot.

Thank you, Mr. Poirot.

Of course, I would have expected
you to be a polyantha rose

rather than a hybrid tea.

The scent is much
stronger, you know?

Ah, perhaps, but mine are
magnificent, are they not?

Sunny day.
Amiable company.

A rose that bears his name.
What more could a man have?

-Hay fever.
-The hay fever?

Le rhume des foins?
Pauvre Hastings.

Haven't got a handkerchief I
could borrow, have you, Poirot?

This one's getting a bit damp.

Unfortunately not.

I still don't think
we should leave them.

Do forget it, Henry.
What are you worried about?

It's just, well, that girl.
She...

I -- I-I wonder if -- if they
have a bar in this place, mm?

Uh, stop, stop!
Stop, please.

What is it, madame?

I feel quite giddy.
It must be the heat.

Would you get me
a glass of water?

Of course.

Leave me here.
I can look at the seeds.

Uh, don't worry.
I shall be quite all right.

Uh, no dawdling, mind.

Oh!
Pardon, madame.

-Please, allow me.
-No. It was my fault.

My -- My attendant has left me
for a few moments.

Thank you.

Oh, it's...
It's Mr. Poirot, surely.

That is correct.

I was quite bedazzled.

It all looks so beautiful,
doesn't it?

Ah. An inspiration.

You have a garden of your own?

One day I hope to retire
to grow the vegetable marrows,

but until then I have only
the window box.

Ah.

T-Then you must take these.
With my compliments.

Oh, no, really, madame.

Miss -- Uh, Miss Barrowby.

Amelia Barrowby?

Please.
Uh, I insist.

I'm sure you'll find them...
quite a revelation.

Oh.

Mademoiselle, you are --
you are most kind.

Thank you.

Spasibo.

Well, where have you
been hiding, girl?

-You've been ages.
-It was very crowded.

Well, what's happening?
You all right?

Yes, yes.
I'm perfectly all right.

There's nothing the matter.
I'm quite well now.

Well, get rid of that water.

And find my husband.

Now, Auntie...

Let's see what ideas I can find
for my borders, shall we?

"Fuchsia triphylla
flore coccinea.

Discovered by a French
missionary in 1703."

It is most interesting,
Chief Inspector.

How is your hay fever, Hastings?

Oh, much better, thanks.

Here you are.

Thank you.
Oh, what's this?

Oh. That is a gift
from an admirer, Hastings.

Mlle. Amelia Barrowby.

Really?

I don't think you'll be getting

many blooms from this lot,
though, Poirot.

It is not of a good variety?

Oh, yes.
One of the best.

Thing is,
there's no seeds in it.

Oh, you're home, madame.

I was worried about the supper.

Don't worry, Lucy.

We haven't forgotten
your night off.

-Who is it this week?
-Ronald Coleman.

Will Miss Katrina be dining?

Yes.

Yes. She just had
a little errand to do.

There we are.
Should do the business.

Thank you.

-Good evening, Miss Lemon.
-Mr. Poirot.

This morning's post
still on your desk.

Oh! Thank you very much,
Miss Lemon.

I just can't understand it.
I never had this trouble before.

I cannot say with certainty
that I have noticed it.

I did have a bit of stick
with an allergy once,

but that was

The nappy rash perhaps?

Is is most intriguing.

You know, what I don't
understand, Poirot,

is why someone
would want to give you

an empty packet of seeds.

Perhaps this will be the answer
to your question, Hastings.

A letter
from Mlle. Amelia Barrowby.

What, the same woman?

Seems strange she didn't mention
writing it to you.

Yes, indeed.

Thank you.

Listen to this.

"Dear M. Poirot, I hope you will
forgive the form of this letter,

but I have to be very careful.

For some time now
I have been concerned

that something is very wrong
in my household.

When age began
to catch up with me,

my niece Mary and her husband
agreed to take care of me

in return
for a roof over their heads."

It's all there, madame.

Oh, and the soup and fish pie
are on a low light.

Thank you, Lucy.

"Mary runs the house
efficiently enough,

although her husband, Henry,
has one particular weakness

of which
I thoroughly disapprove.

Then, about a year ago,

I had cause to engage a young
Russian girl as my companion."

Oh, there you are.

Tell my aunt
we'll have supper directly.

"I am assured
from your description

that you are discretion itself.

Even so, I hardly dare set down
the matter that is troubling me.

My worry is
that if word of my suspicions

reach the wrong person, I very
much fear what might happen."

Henry!

Coming, darling.

"For this reason,

I must continue to behave
as normally as I can...

...in case this person
should take fright."

-Madame.
-Oh.

What does he put
into these things?

Oh!

For what we are
about to receive,

may the Lord make us
truly thankful.

"If you will help me,

perhaps you would call and speak
with me at the above address

as soon as possible.

Yours very truly,
Amelia Barrowby."

Curious.

All sounds a bit dotty
if you ask me.

Why didn't she just tell you
about it when she met you?

The old lady is unaccompanied
for the moment.

She's frightened
she may be discovered.

She passes to me
a harmless packet.

What does it mean?

Probably has
an active imagination.

Lot of old dears do.

"Rosebank, Charman's Green."

Where is that?

South.
Borders of Surrey.

Green fields, certainly.

Not sure
I like the sound of that.

Eh bien.

At the first thing tomorrow,
Miss Lemon,

I would like you to accompany me

on a visit
to Mlle. Amelia Barrowby.

If you wish, Mr. Poirot.

Oh!

Aah! Madame! Please!

Please, what is it?

Get away from her!

-Leave her alone!
-Get away!

-She's so sick.
-Oh, my God.

-Get the doctor.
-What?

The doctor, you idiot.
Quickly!

No, I'm afraid she's not here.

-Is Mr. Poirot?
-No, he's not here either.

They've gone down
to Charman's Green.

I'm sort of holding the fort,
as I can't risk the pollen.

When's she going to settle
the account?

-Pardon?
-She has to settle the account!

Oh.

Well, I'm sure
she meant to pay it.

Hang on. I'll dig out the bill
and have a look.

I'll just be a moment,
Mr. Trumper.

Perhaps you would have
the goodness to wait.

We'll be requiring a receipt
upon paying.

A receipt?

I wonder...

What is it, Mr. Poirot?

I'm not certain, Miss Lemon.

Come.

A most orderly garden,
is it not?

Very neat.

They should have finished
that edging, though.

Hmm.

Ah!

This is like your English
nursery rhyme, Miss Lemon.

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
how does your garden grow?

With silver bells --"

Oh. Pardon.

I fear that this has been
dropped in your garden.

That's where it got to.

Must have been dropped,
what with...

-Thank you, sir.
-Je vous en prie.

Is Mlle. Barrowby at home?

Oh, sir!

Didn't you know?

It was last night she...

I'm afraid she died, sir.

-If you just wait here, sir.
-Thank you so much.

You are a lawyer?

Why should I be a lawyer,
mademoiselle?

I thought perhaps
you have come to say

she did not know
what she was doing.

That is not right.

She wrote it down,
and so shall it be.

Mr. Poirot, I'm so sorry.

May I introduce myself?
Mary Delafontaine.

Madame.

This is my husband.

-How do you do?
-Monsieur.

Miss Barrowby was my aunt.

Thank you.

I very much regret, madame, that
I intrude on your bereavement.

Oh, please be reassured.

It, uh --
It was rather unexpected.

Hercule Poirot.

-You're that detective chap.
-Monsieur.

Of course.
The new rose.

I saw you at the flower show.

What brings you to our house?

Oh, forgive me, madame.

Mlle. Barrowby
had written to me a letter,

and she wished to consult me
on a certain matter.

What matter?

That was of
a private nature, madame.

Didn't mention Russkies,
did she?

Pardon? Russkies?

Bolshies.
The red menace.

Henry, please.

Sorry.
I -- I just thought...

Mr. Poirot, couldn't you tell us
a little more?

Uh...

Well, Mr. Poirot?

At the present moment, madame, I
regret that I must say nothing.

Forgive me.
I will show myself out.

Au revoir.
Madame. Monsieur.

There is a mouse in this hole,
Miss Lemon.

What must a cat do now?

I'm sure I don't know
what that means, Mr. Poirot.

Where to now, sir?

You tell me...

...Chief Inspector.

I noticed at once that your men,

they were making
the surveillance.

Family doctor put us up
to the whole thing.

When I phoned Captain Hastings,

he told me you were
on your way here.

I trust you didn't blow
the gaffe to the Delafontaines.

As far as they're concerned,

we're just waiting
for the postmortem.

So you suspect as I do?

We're doing
our own little test right now.

Down at the mortuary.

Perhaps you'd rather wait
in the taxi, Miss Lemon.

No, thank you.

I did help in the hospital
morgue during the war.

More filing, Miss Lemon?

Mr. Poirot!

There's no doubt whatsoever.

-Strychnine.
-A very large dose.

Which would
have to be administered

very shortly before death.

Precisely.

Right. We'd better find out
what they all had for dinner.

Ah. Miss Lemon.

Artichoke soup --
served from a tureen --

fish pie, and apple tart.

I was chatting to the maid.

She had some time off
to see a film.

All four of them
ate the same thing.

Excellent, Miss Lemon.

Can't have been in the
food, then, if they all had it.

Must have slipped it
to the old girl separately.

No, no, Chief Inspector.
That cannot be.

Eh?

He's right.
Strychnine's as bitter as gall.

You can taste it in a solution
of one in a thousand.

-Coffee.
-She never drank it.

Well, I'm hanged if I can see
how anyone did it.

Nevertheless, Chief Inspector,

someone in that household
is a cold-blooded poisoner.

I feared it might be this.

I've seen something like it
once before in my old practice.

Oh?

Rich old biddy takes
in her penniless relatives.

Holds the purse strings.

The temptation is to speed up
the natural process and collect.

So the Delafontaines,

they were dependent on the money
of Mlle. Barrowby?

Totally.
Hadn't a bean of their own.

Dabbled in stocks and shares,
I'm afraid.

Crash hit them
as badly as any of us.

And they're
her only living relatives.

Yes.

Certain to inherit.

Substantial private income,
by all accounts.

Excuse me, M. le Docteur.

Was Mlle. Barrowby
taking the medicine of any kind?

Not much we can do for her
at that age.

Just a cachet before meals
to aid the digestion.

Ah.

Oh, no. It couldn't have been
her powders.

Katrina guarded those
like a demon.

Well, perhaps she slipped in
the poison.

Why?

Katrina wouldn't poison
her mistress.

Much better keep her alive
and remain employed.

"She wrote it down,
and so shall it be."

She what?

Possibly nothing.

Well, one thing's for sure --

The Delafontaines
have got to be told

that this is now
a murder investigation.

Coming, Poirot?

No, no. Not for the present,
Chief Inspector.

Doctor.

Tell me, Dr. Sims, did
Mlle. Barrowby have a solicitor?

I understand the problem,

but I'm not due to read the will
until next Saturday.

The girl said to me, "She wrote
it down, and so shall it be."

Have you any idea
what she meant by that?

I'm afraid I'm bound
to remain silent.

M. Harrison, please forgive me.

I am not asking you to break
the confidentiality of a client.

However, it is unfortunate

that it suits the purposes
of a murderer.

Numbers 3, 9, and 14, please.

It's rather
a difficult decision, this one.

These two
are well known to everyone.

The mare and the gelding.

Solid, reliable.

And then there's this.

A young filly.
Foreign blood stock.

Unconventional.

A new arrival
in a close-knit stable.

And which will win the prize?

The new arrival wins it.

M. Harrison, I thank you.

Justice has been
seen to be done.

Miss Lemon.

I'll have you pounding
the beat again for two pennies.

I've never known
a more dozy pair of layabouts.

Chief Inspector?

Poirot.

I bring the bad news.

Well, I've had my fair share
of that for today.

It is not the Delafontaines

who inherit the money
of Mlle. Barrowby.

It is the Russian girl,
Katrina Reiger,

and she was aware of the fact
for all of the time.

You hear that?

If there wasn't a lady present,

your ears
would be burning so much

they'd boil
what's left of your brains.

Why?
What has happened?

They've only gone and let her
slip out of the place!

Katrina Reiger has gone missing.

Murder?

Well, it's so unthinkable.

I just didn't...

Henry, I should have listened
to you.

I'm sorry.

I never did trust that girl.

Oh.

I think I feel faint.

Easy, old thing.

Thank you, Doctor.

A lie-down
would be the best idea.

It's been a shock for us all.

A little bit of Russia in our
green and pleasant land, eh?

Most interesting.

Tell me, Chief Inspector,

do you know which is
this particular saint?

All these foreign, bearded types
look the same to me.

Does it matter?

Possibly not.

Let us rejoin the others.

I've given her a mild sedative.

-Thank you, Doctor.
-It's been quite an experience.

Ah. Mr. Poirot.
Chief Inspector.

M. le Docteur.

-Goodbye.
-Goodbye.

Never liked that girl.
Secretive.

You suspected
that Mlle. Barrowby

had left her everything?

Oh, no, not for sure.
But there was always the threat.

Sir?

In the Russian box.

Hmm.

Looks like strychnine to me,
all right.

If I'm any judge,

all Miss Reiger
will be collecting

is a trip to the Old Bailey.

If that is her name.

What do you mean?

Communist agitator.

Spreads trouble, raises money,

working for the revolution
in England.

Oh, come off it, sir.
That's Boy's Own Paper stuff.

No, no, no, no, no,
Chief Inspector Japp.

I fear that M. Delafontaine
is quite right.

Well, check again.

There is no possibility of error
in the state information files.

She must be registered.

She's been living here
three years.

Comrade Stalin makes
no provision for mistakes.

We know no one
called Katrina Reiger.

Thank you.
You've been a great help.

One more thing, monsieur.

What was it that Marx called
"the opiate of the masses"?

Popular fiction, comrade.

Ah, yes, of course.

Thank you.

Looks like
you could be right, Poirot.

She must be
one of those agitators.

Why else would they deny
all knowledge of her?

Probably back in Russia by now.

I do not think
that she would enjoy that.

She's a red, isn't she?

I hardly think so,
Chief Inspector.

Not with an image of the late
czar on her dressing table.

-But you said --
-That Mr. Delafontaine is right?

Oh, yes.

Reiger is not her real name.

Well, what do we do now?

If I were you, Chief Inspector,

I would look for
the Russian church in London.

The opiate of the masses
is religion,

as the young man fully knows.

And now...

It is time for my tea time,
Miss Lemon.

Chief Inspector.

Mr. Trumper's phoned
three or four times.

He's really very upset.

Perhaps I should send
the cash around by messenger.

Five guineas
will settle the account.

Certainly not, Captain Hastings.
Just ignore it.

I'll have words with him
when I return.

Well, yes, but --

And on no account
disturb the files.

Bye for the moment.

Miss Lemon, I want you to figure
to yourself a little history.

Mr. Poirot?

You are a Russian girl.

Yes.

You are employed
as a nurse companion

to an old lady
who is very demanding.

Yes.

And she takes a liking to you,
this old lady,

and she decides to leave to you
all her money.

She tells you so.

But there is one worry.

You have not been entirely
honest about your background.

Then disaster.

You suspect that she has
called upon the services

of a famous detective.

You act swiftly.

And before he arrives,
this detective,

the old lady is dead
and the money is yours.

Does this sound
to you reasonable?

I'm rather afraid it does.

I agree.

If only we could be sure

of what Mlle. Barrowby
was suspicious of.

If only she could have left us
more of a clue.

Are you sure she didn't slip
something into the seed packet?

No.

Of course.

What a simpleton I have become.

Ah, Poirot.
Here it is.

Russian church.
Not a sparrow's hop from here.

Excellent.
But first...

If you please, Miss Lemon --
Do you have two pennies?

For a tip, Mr. Poirot?

For the telephone, Miss Lemon.

Bonjour, Mlle. Reiger.

No, mademoiselle!

Be not alarmed.

This is sanctuary.

You are safe here.

I want only to know the truth.

Why did you run away?

I know what you all think --
It was I who poisoned her.

Oh, yes, I know the signs.
I have seen it in Russia.

When Stalin's men came.

Your family was persecuted
because of their position,

so you fled secretly to England.

What do you care?

Like them,
you wish me to be penniless.

This I must know, mademoiselle.

Did no one touch the medication
but you?

I would rather have died.

And Mlle. Barrowby had for
her dinner only what we know?

Of course.
Or somebody would have noticed.

It must have been a great trial
for a girl like you

to work for another --

fetch this, carry that --

when once you had servants
of your own.

I am a Regimirov.

I am not afraid of work.

And are you afraid of the noose?

It was on the seed packet
all the time.

"Catherine the Great."
Or in Russian, "Katrina."

I realized on the way over.

Here he comes.

Ah.

I will go with you now.

Take her and charge her.

Well, at least she came quietly.

There's a nice, tidy end
to the whole business.

I do not think so,
Chief Inspector.

Come, Miss Lemon.

Oh, no.

Hello, Poirot.
Mr. Japp, Miss Lemon.

How goes the sneezing, Hastings?

Oh, dear.

Well, this package
arrived for you.

Seems to be full of old letters.

Ah. Thank you.

Thank you.

Now, look here, Poirot.

I can't for the life of me
see what's bothering you.

The girl saw you talking
to the old biddy.

She knew something was up.

She had the motive, and she had
the only opportunity.

We know without a doubt
who did it.

Oh, yes.
We know that, I think.

What are these, Poirot?

Well, these, Hastings,
are the routine letters

that Mlle. Barrowby
wrote to her accountant.

And this is the letter
that she wrote to me.

Aha.

Now, if you look very carefully,
Hastings,

you will note in the handwriting

the important
but subtle difference.

I see.

So Katrina
swapped her mistress' letter

with the one she wrote herself.

Oh, Hastings.

How I have missed
your powers of deduction.

No.

The one thing that bothers me
is the proof of how it was done.

We have that.

Don't we?

Captain Hastings!

What... is... this?!

Ah. Yes.

I was going to explain
about that.

I told you not to pay
this account!

Well, Mr. Trumper
was very persistent.

But you don't know tradesmen.

If you pay in cash,
they'll never forget you.

They'll think your checks
aren't good.

Of course!

We will make another visit
to Charman's Green.

You also, Miss Lemon.

-I, Mr. Poirot?
-Oh, yes.

I want you to pay a visit
to a fishmonger.

you have recovered
from the shock now?

Thank you, yes.

it's all been rather an ordeal.

-Ah.
-Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

M. le Docteur.
Madame. Monsieur.

Mr. Poirot.
What a pleasant surprise.

Now I can thank you for all
you've done behind the scenes.

Je vous en prie, madame.

Merci, mademoiselle.

-Please, do sit down.
-Thank you, monsieur.

-Pleasure.
-Ah.

An unpleasant business, eh?

And not a simple one.

Now that it's all over,

perhaps you'll take us
into your confidence.

Yes.
What was it? A Bolshie plot?

They played their part, but no.

As you know, Mlle. Barrowby
had written to me.

But she dared not to
confide to me her exact worries

in case that letter,
it had been intercepted.

But then, you know,
wonder upon wonders,

she catches sight of me
at the flower show,

so she contrives
the brief meeting...

-Oh!
-Oh! Pardon, madame.

Please, allow me.
No, no, no.

No, it was my fault.

...thinking that I had
already read her letter.

She spoke to you?

Oh, yes. But you see, madame,
here was her problem.

She might be watched.
She might be overheard.

So she passes to me
an innocent packet

which is a clue
to that which she suspects.

-A clue?
-Yes.

In fact, M. le Docteur,
it was something that you said

that finally made it clear to me
the significance of the packet.

Stocks!

I telephoned to the accountant
of Mlle. Barrowby in the city,

who confirmed
that during the recent months,

Mlle. Barrowby had been moving
into the ventures

of most high risk,

as these letters of instruction
to her broker prove.

Except these letters, they were
not written by Mlle. Barrowby.

Oh, no.

They are the forgeries
of the most skillful.

Damnable Bolshie.

Right under our very noses.

Ah, yes.

M. Delafontaine.

You attempt to confuse me

with your ridiculous stories
about spies.

Mlle. Reiger is a Russian
aristocrat, not a Communist.

In truth, M. Delafontaine,

you have been trying to conceal
a most devious murder!

Sorry.

Mr. Poirot,
is this melodrama essential?

When I first came here,
M. le Docteur,

this beautiful garden,

it reminded me of your famous
English nursery rhyme.

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
how does your garden grow?

With the silver bells
and the cockleshells

and the pretty maids
all in a row."

Except they were
not cockleshells

that were used in the border
of the garden.

They were oyster shells.

The favorite but forbidden treat
of your aunt, were they not?

Mme. Delafontaine.

You also saw me
at the flower show,

but you could not risk
the discovery that for some time

you had once again been
speculating with the stocks --

only on this occasion, madame,
with the money of your aunt.

I believe you are also
speculating, Mr. Poirot.

Where is your proof?

Ah, yes, madame.
The proof.

I'm afraid the fishmonger
remembers you

buying the oysters on that day.

You see, madame, you were
foolish enough to pay cash.

He's got us, Mary.

You idiot!

Mary! Mary!

Darling, now, please.

There is no escape, madame.

That miserable Russian rat!

She was going to get everything!

Including my garden!
My garden!

So you would plant
the poison in her room

and send her to her death?

What did it matter?
She's a little fool!

Keep back!

Oh, yes.

That jelly of a husband of mine
tried to talk me out of it.

But it was so deliciously easy.

Auntie always had a weakness
for oysters,

but the doctor disapproved.

It was simple to produce them
as a secret treat.

She swallowed them so quickly,

she never noticed
the taste of the strychnine.

The only problem
was to dispose of the shells

so Lucy wouldn't notice.

And edging on the flower bed
was perfect.

It also provided a resting place
for the bell,

always ringing over and over.

And so it is over, madame!

Not quite!

No, madame!
No!

Whiskey?

Sorry, darling.

You fool!

You've condemned me
to the gallows!

Mr. Delafontaine.

Bravo, mademoiselle.

You are indeed
as brave as you claim.

And now you are free.

Free?

Your young friend.
He is waiting.

Thank you, M. Poirot,
for not betraying us.

One day we shall be truly free.

Where to, miss?

Take us to...

...the Ritz.

Swipe me.
She's the Queen of Sheba.

Good evening, Hastings.

Hello there, all.

Captain Hastings,
what are you doing?

All that pollen.

No, no. It's all right.
I'm as right as ninepence.

-It wasn't hay fever after all.
-Certainly sounded like it.

No, you remember I said
I had an allergy once before?

Well, I remembered what it was.

An aunt of mine was fond of

a particular
French lady's perfume.

Eh?

Every time I went near her
or in a room where she'd been,

I couldn't stop sneezing.

I'm afraid, Miss Lemon, you must
use a different perfume.

I never wear perfume to work,
Mr. Poirot.

-You don't?
-It would be most inappropriate.

Well, somebody's
wearing perfume.

I can smell it.

Perhaps it is
the flowers, my friend.

No.
No, it's different.

It's over here somewhere.

Poirot!
What on earth are you wearing?

Well, I do not know
what you mean, Hastings.

You're wearing scent.

Nonsense, Hastings.

I am wearing
a discreet, manly cologne

that I purchased
from M. Trumper.

For five guineas.

Five guineas?

I thought it was
all his haircuts for a year.

That is enough!

The office of Poirot
is closed for business!

Miss Lemon,
cover up your typewriter.

Good day to you,
Chief Inspector Japp.

And, Hastings,
will you please go home

and nurse
your unfortunate affliction?